


Right Where We Are

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a soulmate AU post going around on tumblr, but I took the idea of soulmates who find out based on touch. Romantic fluff all the way. Also I blame Random Nexus for saying it was too short and I took it as a challenge in this case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Where We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Nexus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/gifts).



They all said it would happen. Sally would listen enraptured as her parents described the feeling.

_electric_

_like pissing on the third rail_

As a child, Sally’s thought was “I can’t wait for that to happen to me.”

~*~

Seventeen-year-old Mycroft rolled his eyes as his parents continued their tale of how they met.

"My hands brushed against hers as I handed her the books that she had dropped and it was warm, like finally knowing what home felt like," Mummy told friends at their anniversary party. "I hadn’t had that feeling ever - not even with my family."

Father smiled as he hugged her closer. “Like snuggling into warm blankets on a Sunday morning,” he gave her a kiss.

It was probably one of the few times where Sherlock and agreed.

"Ugh. Sentiment," Sherlock muttered.

"I hope that never happens to me," Mycroft said as he settled back into his math book.

~*~

Years passed. A young happy Sally Donovan who grew up doted by her parents and loved soon realized that even with the soulmate system, finding love was still a pain in the ass.

She dated and she loved, but it wasn’t the same passion that her parents felt or showed. And deep down in her gut, she knew those people, while she liked them well enough, she didn’t love them with the same burning and fire that her parents felt. That acceptance for everything — working long hour in the field, her hot temper and smart mouth, the fierce love she felt for her family, that she preferred swilling rum and staying home instead of clubbing. All of those things.

And she never felt that calm acceptance for those she dated. She couldn’t do for them what they were unable to do for her, which was unconditional love. The whole soulmate thing hanging over their heads didn’t help. Sometimes people worried about the lack of that spark and that tanked the relationships. Sometimes it was just that she couldn’t accept them for who they were — which wasn’t fair for either of them. So they ended. Sometimes in anger, sometimes with a resigned shrug, but they ended.

Over time, Sally accepted it. As her mom once said, “Let go or be dragged,” and this whole soulmate thing was something she learned to let go.

Besides, it was more fun just meeting people without that _thing_ hanging over her head.

~*~

The more Mycroft interacted with people, the more he was glad to know that he hadn’t found his soulmate. And probably never would.

As a child, he secretly feared it — just touching people made him afraid. The whole idea of losing himself to another person bothered him. Mycroft didn’t want to be bogged down by sentiment and emotion. He saw his mother, one of the greatest mathematical minds, happily sublimate herself for her family and he wondered how England would have been different if she never met his father. Would the country be greater? Would she be happier by expressing her genius mind instead of wiping runny noses?

Thankfully as he got older, the more he could avoid people. Gaining a reputation of ice helped. The probability that it would happen diminished as his circle of associates got smaller and smaller.

But then Sherlock fell to sentiment.  Not that it surprised Mycroft. He always knew his baby brother was prone to it. And ensuring his baby brother was safe was enough sentiment for him, thank you very much.

~*~

"You’re telling me that we don’t have jurisdiction over this? It’s happening in bloody London you pinched-face twat," Sally stormed over to Mycroft hissing in his face. "How dare you waltz in here and claim this scene. This is my investigation and I won’t have Big Brother running around on it."

Mycroft stared her down, snorting. “This involves three different nations, four people under our surveillance and my idiot brother, so of course I will be involved,” his lips formed a tight smile. “I promise we won’t compromise the scene much.”

Sally’s lips curled into a snarl. “And it happened in my division on my fucking street,” she spat out. “I swear that Holmes men like to fuck with my life,” she muttered, “No. Come back after we’re done. Besides, you probably figured it out already.”

Mycroft blinked.

"Do not make me use my crowd handling techniques," she snarled. "You will be picking your teeth out of your arse for years to come if you stay here."

She had a point. Besides, Mycroft had solved everything, like Sally said.

He nodded. “As you wish.”

Sally snorted, then stomped past him. Rather, she tried to, but tripped on the curb, stumbling forward. Mycroft’s arm shot out, faster than what either of them anticipated, catching her by the hand to steady her.

In all their year of interactions, they never touched. Usually they were on the opposite side of a room — her glaring at him, him ignoring her. So there was never physical contact. Odd, but nothing either of them thought about.

But in this case, Mycroft’s bare hands grabbed Sally’s to keep her from falling on her face. Perhaps it was chivalry, neither of them would ever know.

Once when Sally was a child, she licked a nine-volt battery and was startled by the tingle on her tongue. Mycroft’s hand on hers was like that sensation, but amplified by a hundred. That was the shock that ripped through Sally’s system as she grabbed Mycroft’s hand.

For Mycroft her hand burned through him like a raging fire. There was a roaring sound in his ear as he dropped her hand.

"Fuck," Sally breathed, staring into his face. Her eyes were wide with shock.

Mycroft could only emit an undignified squeaking noise.

~*~

She tried to avoid it for three days. Sally didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to see if that electricity was still there, but the more she studied the reports and the roadblocks being thrown in her way, the more she realized that she had to go and beg for a favor from Mycroft Holmes.

Which is how she found herself in his office -- a dark, minimal office with just a portrait of Queen Elizabeth as his decor. He was sitting behind an enormous desk, staring at her blandly. Rather, he was trying to stare at her blandly, but his eyes would flicker, as if he had become distracted by something.

Foregoing pretense of politeness, Sally dropped the files on Mycroft’s desk and sighed. “Look,” she said, after an excessively long awkward pause in which Mycroft scanned her face searching for clues. “I need your help with this. It’s gone international and we’re dealing with multiple government sources.”

“I thought you said you didn’t need my help,” Mycroft glanced at the fat folder, then back up at her. It had been three days since the hand incident and instead of the usual snappy demeanor, Sally seemed cautious. She wore the mask of normalcy, but at the same time, he could sense she was rattled to be around him. That damned touch had mucked up the entire system, he concluded. Stupid complications.

“I do now,” she said. “Don’t you dare think it’s --”

He tried not to smile, but it was difficult. “I don’t dare think that,” he replied. “I’m just pleased that you finally caught up to my train of thought.” He picked up the folder. It still wore traces of her touch -- the folder was unnaturally warm where her hands had been, and the heat radiated up off the pages and onto his fingertips as he glanced through the reports. He did his best to ignore it.

Sally snorted. “So can you help me now that I’ve prostrated myself before you?”

An image of her laying next to him in bed flickered through his mind. He could imagine her curled up against him, hair tickling his skin and her warmth as he skimmed his fingertips along her skin. He shook his head, forcing that image away.

“I am not a petty man, Inspector Donovan,” he said, snapping the folder shut and pushing it away. “I will have someone contact you when you get the necessary clearances. Why are you not consulting my brother?”

Sally’s eyes darted to the picture of Queen Elizabeth behind him and swallowed. “We need official clearances,” she said. “Sherlock is all well and good, but we need evidence we can use, and that requires bureaucracy,” her eyes switched back to him. “And from what I understand, you’re the grease in the wheels.”

Mycroft chuckled. He tried to make it sound cool, but there was a definite tone of warmth in it. “And in return?”

Again her eyes returned to Queen Elizabeth as her mouth formed into a slight pout. He could feel the heat radiate from her. For a moment, he wondered what she felt when she was around him, but returned his mind to business.

“I owe you a favor,” she said finally. “For something to be determined in the future.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. That will be useful,” he made a dismissive motion with his hand.

He could hear her breathe a sigh of relief as she exited the room.

~*~

It had been hard enough to retain composure while she was around him, since the room crackled with nervous energy -- so much so that she could smell the tang of lightning around him. Her hair had been practically on end from the static electricity he was generating around her.

So Sally forgave herself for leaning up against his assistant’s wall and letting out a shuddering sigh and did her best to ignore Anthea’s curious glance.

“You all right?” she asked, clean, crisp words floating out of her mouth. “Do you need a cup of tea or anything?”

Sally shook her head, gulping in the stale office air. “I’ll be fine,” she lied. “Just need a minute. Been feeling under the weather lately.”

Anthea smiled blandly. “Of course,” she said. “If you need a moment,” she motioned to the chairs.

“No,” Sally raised a hand. “I’ll be fine,” she said. If she sat down on that chair, Sally feared that the electricity would discharge and perhaps set the room on fire. That would be rather embarrassing.

Instead, she took another deep breath, then strode out of the office. Nevermind the fact that one leg slightly buckled, she was going to keep her dignity, until she could find refuge elsewhere.

She refused to look back at the building and didn’t relax until she was back at her own office, armed with a coffee and a bun as she scanned the Internet for more information regarding the soulmate manifestation.

~*~

Research into the soulmate phenomenon -- Mycroft snorted that the name and how twee it was -- was sketchy at best. Like many studies of attraction, it was difficult to determine what was exactly going on because it was impossible to replicate or have a control study.

There were different reports that contradicted each other as well as supported each other. Some people had more than one soulmate, so it wasn’t limited to romantic attraction. Some had none at all. There were couples that had been happily partnered for years that never reported having that initial spark that other couples reported. But they would have that spark with other people, but no romantic or sexual interest.

In other words, everything Mycroft could see was that it was a bloody mess. He would have chalked it up to static electricity or environmental issues, but after three days, those factors should have changed, eliminating the repeat symptoms. Instead of being eliminated, they had intensified.

Mycroft slammed his laptop shut in annoyance and ruffled his hair as he glanced at the folder. He had absorbed the knowledge in the reports -- indeed that had been obtained in his first glance -- but the heat hadn’t truly dissipated. While it wasn’t as hot as when she initially handed him the folder, he could feel lingering traces of her warmth on the folder. Indeed, the paper seemed to glow softly now where she had touched it.

He never believed in fate or a higher power, but now? Now he wondered if the universe had decided to toy with him in some sort of strange way. There were no coincidences, he believed. But he couldn’t find any reason why Inspector Sally Donovan would generate such a physiological reaction. Even if the soulmate thing was true, why her? Every interaction between the two of them had been antagonistic, professional and icy cool. He had never sensed this from her before and thanks to one brushing of the hands, their entire relationship had changed.

The whole damn thing was ridiculous, he believed. He could continue being a professional and ignoring this. He would continue being a professional and ignore this. Even though other studies reported similar couples doing similar things to no avail, he was going to be the exception that proved the theory.

~*~

Sally smiled to herself. “Of course you did,” she said into the phone. “You were in the middle of clearing this all up when I came to you.”

She was oddly pleased to hear a hint of a chuckle over the phone. “Your reports were useful,” he said. “I am not afraid to say that. They gave us a sense as to what is going on the ground, which is a lot of information for us to process. And I cleared those issues for you,” he then named names and contact information for Sally. “If there are issues, simply say that you’ve been working with me,” he said. “That usually strikes enough fear into people to assist.”

Sally laughed -- it was involuntary, low and with more affection than she intended. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “You are frightening at times.”

She could practically hear this thought _But not to you_ over the phone lines. Sally ignored it and shoved it to the side. Friendly collegial relationship wasn’t terrible. It helped smooth things over, she told herself. Just because he did her one favor didn’t mean that she was going to marry him and be his honey schnookums forever.

“Fear sometimes is more effective than respect,” he murmured. “You know that. I’ve seen you employ it with Sherlock.”

She was surprised to hear another laugh burst out of her and wondered if it colored his world like his murmurs created a crackle of energy over the phone lines. “Thanks,” she replied. “I appreciate this. Although I’m terrified of what I owe you now.”

“As you should be,” he replied.

“Did the terrifying Mycroft Holmes just crack a joke?”

“I simply said the truth,” then there was click of him hanging up the phone. Sally pulled away and stared at the receiver for a moment. _Did I just have a conversation with Mycroft that ended with nice words?_ she thought to herself.

Two seconds later her phone rang again.

“Donovan,” she grunted into it.

“Inspector Donovan,” she heard the honeyed tones of Mycroft’s assistant in the phone. “My supervisor needs to meet with you. Are you free now?”

Sally glanced at her calendar. “I think so,” she cautiously said. “Is it urgent?”

“Yes,” Anthea said. “A car will be around to pick you up in ten minutes. I will explain when I see you.”

Precisely ten minutes later, Sally found herself inside a roomy, but sleek black Jaguar, which was speeding away from the curb.

She glanced over at Anthea, who handed her a mobile phone. Rather, it resembled a mobile phone, except that the glass was cracked and shattered. The entire thing smelled of smoke and a static charge ran up Sally’s arm.

“Oh shit,” Sally breathed.

“Indeed,” Anthea said. “This happened during your phone call with him.”

The worst part, besides the fact that Sally was blushing in mortification, was that Anthea didn’t look upset. She looked amused. “Is he alright?”

“Doctor is looking at his hand right now,” Anthea said. “Thank you for not playing games with me and pretending that this wasn’t due to your interaction with him.”

A flash of anger replaced the embarrassment. “It’s not my fault --”

Anthea held her hand up in Sally’s face. “Please,” she smiled, “If I thought it was your fault, I’d say so. I do not imply things.”

“So what are you saying?” Sally studied the skyline, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“I’m saying that Mr. Holmes has been less productive as of late and it’s in correlation to you,” Anthea’s smile brightened even more. “The phone melting was the last clue,” she leaned forward. “You’re his soulmate. He gets warm whenever you’re near and whenever I saw him with that file you gave him, he was touching it gingerly, as if it was too hot to touch. It’s still warm now -- I catch him caressing the folder sometimes, puzzled by the whole thing.”

“Look just because I’m his --” Sally started.

“Ah, but he is yours also,” Anthea replied, looking even more smug. “It was clear that he affected you somehow after that meeting two days ago. Your hair was standing on end, as if you were touching a static electric generator and honestly the air crackled around you. It wasn’t until you left that everything returned to normal. Did you know your presence in his office raised the temperature by six degrees? That’s impressive.”

“So what do you want? What does he want?”

“Mr. Holmes?” Anthea burst out laughing. “He doesn’t want anything to do with this. He’s asked me to be his proxy in our future interactions.”

“That would be fine by me,” Sally replied.

Anthea shook her head. “Do you realize that’s a mere bandage on a gaping wound?” she asked, then studied Sally. “Dear me, you are as thick as he is. Why are you two being so obstinate?”

“I don’t like him,” Sally started. “He’s arrogant, snobby, entitled and entirely creepy in how protective he is of his brother. He’s --”

“How many interactions have you had with him?”

“Enough to know he’s a twat, except he lacks the warmth.”

Anthea smiled, then glanced out the window. Sally fidgeted in her seat, wondering what was playing in Anthea’s mind. Admittedly Sally’s mind was torn -- while part of her wanted to throw herself out of the car and run screaming, another part of her was curious as to what would exactly happen if they saw each other again. Would a room start on fire? Would everything just fizzle to nothing?

Then there was the decent person portion of her brain wondering if Mycroft was injured and if so, how badly. Because even though she didn’t want to admit it, she felt some responsibility.

“You said it yourself -- it’s not your fault,” Anthea said, glancing over at Sally with a sly smile.

“I didn’t say --”

Anthea shook her head. “It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “We’ve all read the studies on this. There’s no good explanation for it. But he also can’t focus.”

“So I’m supposed to lie back and think of England?”

Anthea burst out laughing. It was actually a startled, pleased laugh. “You are funnier than he says you are,” she chuckled. “I don’t think he’s looking for that -- yet,” Anthea’s expression was practically puckish. “But ignoring this and avoiding isn’t making it better."

They returned to Mycroft’s office. Anthea knocked on the solid door, then opened it. Putting her finger to her lips, she motioned for Sally to enter, then shut the door behind her.

Mycroft was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. His jacket was off, tie undone and shirt sleeves rolled up. “Inspector Donovan,” he croaked, one eye opening slowly, then the other, like a lizard sunning itself.

“Mr. Holmes,” she said. The room crackled for a moment and her hair started to rise on the back of her neck.

“Remind me to fire Anthea,” he muttered, eyes closing again. “She did not obey my orders.”

“How’s your hand?” she asked, slowly approaching the desk, ignoring the crackling sounds in the air and the tingle in her fingertips.

“Minor burn,” he replied. “Just needed some cold water and time.”

Sally glanced down at his hand -- it was red and tender looking, but nothing too dangerous. “This happened during a phone call?” she asked. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t believe it, but because it was happening to her and she had witnessed it….well, one had to believe it.

There was a curt nod.

“As we were talking?”

Another nod.

“Why the hell did you stay on the phone with me you clot?”

Mycroft mumbled something.

Sally approached closer to him, practically looming over him. She could hear a faint humming in the air.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Couldn’t let go of the phone,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I wanted to stay on the phone, even if it hurt,” he sat up, then glanced over at her. “For once in my life, I am perplexed.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that, and marked it in her mental calendar as one of those days where a Holmes was actually confused. “You tried reading those studies too huh?”

“None of it makes sense. There’s terrible control variables, it’s impossible to reproduce in controlled situations and the only people they talked to were ones that reported it. Self-reporting studies are so unreliable,” his mouth twisted into a moue of distaste. “But we are having this reaction and it makes no sense, given our past interactions. We barely tolerate each other. If I was inclined to believe in a higher power, I would say it’s like that horrible internet meme of someone holding our heads together and yelling ‘NOW KISS!’”

Sally burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself. “I am definitely marking this day on my mental calendar,” she said. “The day Mycroft Holmes used an internet meme to describe a situation.”

“They can be useful,” his expression softened. “You understood exactly what I was referring to.”

She nodded, then moved closer, a fingertip brushing over his hand, feeling the crackle and a blaze of energy where her fingertip lingered. “So what if we gave the universe what it wanted?” she asked, bending down to study his face. A flash of fear flickered behind his eyes and he swallowed.

“What on earth are you talking about?” he asked. “This would be suboptimal for both of us. You barely tolerate me. I don’t tolerate anyone.”

Sally smiled. “My mom used to have a saying, ‘Let go or be dragged,’” she said. “It means --”

“Yes, I know what it means,” Mycroft moved his hand away from her finger. “But how does this apply?”

Her hand slid up to his face, fingertips tracing along his jawline and she looked fascinated for a moment as he closed his eyes, shuddering.

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” she said, watching him breathe deeply. His head followed her touch. “We are still who we are. All this means is that we’re connected and we can define how.”

“You sound like you’ve had experience with this before,” he continued to blindly follow her touch, nuzzling her hand. She could sense his pulse slowing and calm coming over him.

“My childhood friend -- the first time I touched her hand, it felt like laughter,” she said. “My mother feels like warm sunshine on my skin. My best friend feels like champagne bubbles. These people are the ones that I know won’t fail me.”

“And me?” his eyes opened and he focused on her.

“Like no one else. Like electricity. It feels like a storm approaching,” Sally said. “You’ve never had this?”

He shook his head. “Avoided it,” he admitted. “Don’t need the distraction.”

“How did you get through life not touching people? That’s just so strange.”

His expression settled into one of smug arrogance. “Cultivate a terrifying reputation,” he said. “Then no one wants to touch you. But Sherlock feels like hedgehog quills. Sharp and spiky --”

“But if you approach the right way,” Sally finished, her hand running through his hair. “He feels like broken glass to me.” She settled her hip against the desk. “What do I feel like to you?”

His eyes closed again. “Fire,” he said. “Just heat. Wonderful heat like when I was a child and Mummy would give me a hot water bottle on winter nights.” Mycroft’s eyes opened and he studied her thoughtfully. There wasn’t the hint of arrogance of superiority, just genuine curiosity. Mycroft sat up and grasped her hand, pulling her down to his level.

“Let go or be dragged,” Sally repeated, before tugging at his hair to bring his mouth to hers.

The first kiss was almost painful. Not because of bitten lips or teeth clacking together, but because of the electric shock Sally felt. Mycroft let out a whimper as he pulled back the instant their lips connected.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, brushing her hand over his mouth, searching for injury.

“No,” he said. “That was just a surprise,” he looked thoughtful. “I haven’t had a surprise in a long while.” Mycroft pulled her onto his lap, his hands brushing over hers and then up and down her arms. “Do you feel that?” he asked.

She nodded. It was still electric, but more comfortable now. Less of a huge discharge that threatened to fry her. Instead it was more of a gentle hum.

“Maybe we pushed things a bit too quickly,” she said.

He nodded absently, studying her reaction to his touch. Sally soon found herself squirming in his lap, her body following his touch the way his sought hers. After a moment, he returned focus on her, “Do you want to try again?”

“Oh God yes,” she sighed.

This time, while the kiss didn’t injure them, it did cause the lights to flicker in his office.

 

 


End file.
